


To Turn Back Winter

by GrieverXIII



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrieverXIII/pseuds/GrieverXIII
Summary: Jon Snow and Brandon Stark have concocted a desperate plan to save mankind from an eternal night.Jon Snow would wake up in the past and would possess the memories needed to change the future.Unfortunately for him, he is not the only one who remembers.





	1. Catelyn I

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first ever attempt at writing anything. Lets see how it goes. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Catelyn Stark gasped wide awake, staring at the ceiling in shock. Her hands grasped her throat as It burned with the pain of Reymund Frey's dagger slicing through her skin, his disgusting father's words echoing in her mind as the world died around her. 

With a violent shake, she tumbled from the bed and the shock of pain to her hands and elbows cleared her head slightly. With wide eyes and heaving breaths she looked around herself. She was in Ned's room, in Winterfell.

 _How..?_

The pain in her throat was receding until only a slight phantom ache was left. She felt along her neck but there was no sign of any injuries or even any scars. _Was it a dream?_ She knows it can't be. For it to have been a dream and for her to be in Winterfell means it must all have been a dream. The war, Ned's death, her children's. No matter how sweet the idea of it, it can't have all been a dream. 

She glanced at the bed. Ned's bed, even if she had slept there more often than not. Its was empty. Was this one of the Seven Hells? Was she doomed to wander through an empty home for all eternity? Could whatever curse that had caused her family so much suffering follow her even in death? 

Laying on the floor of her husband's room, Catelyn wept. She wept for her son, her beautiful boy, who was stabbed through the heart by that wretched traitor. Catelyn blamed herself. She knew she was the reason for so many of her son's setbacks. She had released Jamie Lannister, hoping for her daughters return. Oh how foolish she had been. _Jame Lannister sends his regards_. She was the one who had negotiated with Walder Fray, she had agreed to bind her son to those snakes when all her life her father had told her they weren't to be trusted. She had gotten her son killed, and more than likely Edmure as well. _Family, Duty, Honor._ She had failed to uphold those words when it was most important.

Catelyn could not say how long she lay there, lost in her grief and self loathing, but the rays of morning sunlight streaming through the window shocked her enough to halt her tears. She blinked. She had expected the Seven Hells to be in perpetual night. A sudden knock on the doors made her jump nearly out of her skin. 

"My Lady? Are you awake?"

Catelyn knew that voice, although she hadn't heard it in nearly a year. On shaky legs she stood up and wobbled over to the door, opening it slightly to peer out. She couldn't help a gasp when she saw Maester Luwin. Catelyn recalled hearing he had died when the Ironborn had burned Winterfell to the ground. He certainly didn't look dead now, he looked as sprightly as she remembered. The Maester opened his mouth to speak before closing it and then just stared at her. She couldn't help but gawk back at him. Were they sharing the afterlife together? Was everyone dead here as well? The Maester gave her a look of concern. 

"My Lady, are you well?" 

Blinking her tear soaked eyes rapidly, she continued to stare at the Maester's apparition. With half a mind, she let the door open wider and his eyes widened in shock. He turned his head to the side, staring out into the hallway, before giving out an awkward cough. Catelyn was confused for a moment before giving a start. She was wearing a sheer night gown that left most of her legs bared below the knee. Blushing furiously, she slammed the door shut. How utterly unladylike.

"Just a moment Maester Luwin!" She called out. 

Rushing over to Ned's armoire, she dug around for some of the clothing she kept in it. She pulled out a robe that covered her enough to be decent before making her way back. Feeling calmer, she opened the door and found the good Maester standing in the same spot. He face was even more worried than before.

"Is everything quite alright, Lady Stark?" He asked gently.

"Yes, everything is well." Catelyn said, not knowing what else to say. Her mind still utterly confused by these events.

"Are you worried for Lord Stark, my lady? That was my reason for waking you. A raven just arrived from Last Hearth."

He held a rolled up letter sealed by the direwolf sigil. Her brows furrowed.

_From the Umbers?_

She held out a hand and Maester Luwin gave her the letter. Her heart suddenly jittery, she bid the Maester a good day and walked back inside the room. Sitting on the bed, she gripped the letter in rigid hands. She was both hopeful and fearful at the words it may contain. Gathering her courage, Catelyn unrolled the parchment. At the first word her heart started beating faster. It was Ned's handwriting.

_Dear Cat_

_I am writing with the hopes that everything is well with you and in Winterfell. Things are well here in Last Hearth. The Greatjon was concerned about the increase in wildlings raid as of late and wished to plan accordingly. We journeyed out to the Wall and spoke to the Lord Commander. Everything is settled for now but it is puzzling, there seems to be movement north of the Wall and no one can explain why. The Greatjon expressed the wish for another King-beyond-the-wall, another Gendel and Gorne, that we might put down as our ancestors did. Personally, I sincerely hope it does not come to that. We have done all we could to fortify the surrounding villages and holdfasts so I shall be making my way home come morning. I have missed you dearly Cat, you and the children._

_Ever Yours,_

_Eddard Stark_

Catelyn set the letter down with tears in her eyes. Ned's words, even if just written down, were not something she ever thought she would hear again. It seemed unbelievable, that he could still be alive. Glancing at the letter again, Catelyn started thinking. She recalled this letter. Ned had sent it near on two years ago. She remembered that he had received a raven from the Greatjon about trouble with the wildlings and he had been gone for nearly three whole moons. More and more this situation seemed real. More and more this felt like a miracle. 

Trying to stay calm, Catelyn began her morning ministrations. She dressed appropriately and, giving herself one last look in the mirror, stepped out through the door. 

She began making her way through the hallway not daring to think, not daring to hope. The gods would not be so cruel, surely. She stood before doors that she walked through a thousand times without a care in the world. She was shaking in apprehension. She lifted her hand to turn the knob and then froze. She could not bear to do it. She was not brave enough. Once more the wedding of her nightmares flashed through her mind. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, her throat burned. 

It was shocking when the door opened and her oldest son suddenly stood before her, giving her a bemused look.

"Mother?"

With a great cry, she threw herself at him, holding him tightly. She sobbed against him, her tears landing in his hair.

"Mother! What's wrong!?" 

Catelyn only cried harder, held him more firmly. Her son, her boy, her king, alive and in her arms. Catelyn thanked the gods and apologized for ever doubting them. This gift, this wonderful gift, could have only come from them. Robb held her, attempting to comfort her by giving her pats on her back but she could tell he was confused. She didn't speak, she merely relished in the feeling of her son held against her. 

Slowly her tears and sobbing stopped and she only looked at him. Her eyes drinking in the sight of him. He looked well albeit terrified and she chided herself for scaring him. He looked younger as well, by about two years based on that letter. She could tell she was smiling at him like a fool.

"Mother?" He tried again.

"Good morning sweetling, it's so good to see you."

"Good morning Mother, it's good to see you as well." He said slowly. 

He was giving her a look, clearly waiting for an explanation for her strange actions.

"I'm so sorry for startling you, my dear, I had an awful nightmare." She replied, attempting to look embarrassed. She was much too happy to feel any such thing. 

"Oh." And then he grinned. "It seems the tables have turned, you coming to me instead of the other way around."

"Don't tease your mother." She admonished but she smiled. "Go on to breakfast, I'll go see to your siblings."

Giving her one last worried look, her son smiled at her but nodded. Catelyn continued on through the hallway, all the while her mind in a swirl of emotions. First and foremost was elation, to see Robb, to know Ned was alive, and to be just about to see her other children, It truly must have been a blessing of the seven. She could think of no other explanation. Almost in equal measure she felt determination. She would not squander this gift. She had been given a second chance to protect her family, unworthy as she was, and she would do all in her power to insure none of those horrible events ever came to pass. This time, their enemies would pay.

Much more composed now, she did not break down when she saw her precious daughters. They were arguing, just as she always remembered them doing. Without bothering to say anything she barged into the room and hugged them both tightly, their argument stopped in surprise. Fierce Arya and gentle Sansa, as opposite as night and day but this time they would not suffer at the hands of the Lannisters. Catelyn would make sure of it. She would have to do something if Robert Baratheon ever proposed the betrothal to that wretched child of Cercei Lannister once more. Her daughters would both marry gentle Northmen, like her Ned, she decided. Men who respected them. She left them getting ready and made her way to her would be knight. 

She found Bran sitting up in bed and she froze when their eyes met. Her son looked at her, his usually expressive face held a passiveness that she had never seen on him before. It made him look a stranger. His eyes though, his eyes terrified her. They were not the eyes of a seven year old boy. Those eyes were as old as the rivers, as old as the stones. Her mouth felt dry. 

"Bran?" Catelyn asked in apprehension.

Slowly, his features changed, his face now held confusion. 

"Mother?" He asked as if noticing she was there for the first time. 

She slowly walked up to his bed and looked at him in concern. 

“Bran? Sweetling?”

“I had a dream mother.” He said, his eyes unfocused. “I was flying.”

Catelyn reached down and enveloped him in her arms.

"Would you like to tell me about your dream?" She asked gently.

“I don't fully remember. I was flying over an island in the middle of a large lake." He said, his face one of concentration. "I remember feeling like there was something I had to tell Jon." 

At this he looked apologetic in her direction and Catelyn sighed, of course her happy reunion with her children would be soured with a reminder of the bastard. 

“You'll feel better once you have some breakfast. Go ahead and get ready. ” Catelyn said and then, much to his visible surprise “You can go see your half brother afterwards.”

She felt Bran nod against her shoulder and she let him go. She stood by the door and gave him one last appraising look but he seemed to have fully recovered from his strange dream. He got up from his bed and went about getting ready with an energy only seen in children that age and the joy she felt at seeing him walk drove away any thoughts of strange dreams and terrifying eyes, or even bastards. She watched him with a happy smile. Her son would be a knight, she would make sure of it. After a while, she closed the door behind her and went on to check on her youngest. 

* * *

Later, Catelyn sat in the Great Hall next to her husbands empty chair. She was breaking her fast with a relish. It amazed her how much she had missed Northern food. She remembered a time when she had considered it all plain and bland. Not at all like the rich dishes from Riverrun. Now it just tasted like home and family. 

As she ate she couldn't help but marvel at having her family again. Seeing them all together, seated around her, it finally seemed real. She had a difficult time holding back tears. Only Ned sitting beside her would have made it more perfect. To her left sat Sansa, eating as proper and as primly as if a simple breakfast was the most formal of occasions. Next to her sat her sister who slouched and ate with her fingers as often as her utensils. On the other side of the table was Bran who was playing with Rickon more than actually eating. To her right, on the other side of Ned’s chair sat her eldest who was engaged in a conversation with the boy seated next to him. 

_Theon Greyjoy._  


It had taken all the willpower that Catelyn possessed not to strangle the boy when she first saw him. He had betrayed her family after all that they had done for him. He had murdered children in cold blood. Children whom he had known since their birth. Catelyn's hands had clutched at her side and she had given him such a glare that it had left him wide eyes and trembling. 

Now, Catelyn just took a deep breath. The boy currently arguing amicably with her son had committed no betrayal. She couldn't exactly punish him for choices he had not yet made. She would never trust him and she would make sure he never made his way back to his barbaric family but she wouldn't hang him from the rafters which had been her initial inclination. 

As she continued to eat, Catelyn began planning. She had one year until the letter from King’s Landing would arrive, the letter that ruined their lives. The one announcing the death of Jon Arryn. She had one year to change things and make sure that her family never suffered as it once had. 

_Ned must not become Hand of the King._

She knew this to be one of the most important things. Robb had done well, more than anyone would have expected of a boy his age, and she was immensely proud of him, but if it came to war they would need Ned’s leadership. She couldn't help thinking the issues with the Karstarks could have been avoided if Ned had been there. The Ironborn as well. Balon Greyjoy would have never dared attack the North if the man that had driven him back to his miserable island had still been alive. Although, more than anything, Catelyn did not think she could survive Ned dying a second time. The very idea made her feel sick. 

“Jon!” her youngest daughter suddenly yelled, interrupting Catelyn’s thoughts.

She looked up from her plate reluctantly. Standing by the doors to the Great Hall was her oldest headache. The single bane on her otherwise happy marriage. 

Jon Snow looked at all of them, his face full of northern stoicism, looking so much like Ned, even as young as he was, that it hurt. Just as it always had. 

“Jon! Come eat with us!” Arya insisted, her voice full of excitement. 

Catelyn sighed and looked away from the boy. She knew a cold look would send him scurrying but at the moment she couldn't be bothered to. The bastard’s presence was unsightly and he should know well enough to stay away from her when her husband was not around but at present it felt difficult to muster up the old hatred. Oh she still hated him, she was sure of that, but not in the same way she hated Walder Fray or Roose Bolton or the Lannisters.

“I had something earlier, In the kitchens.” the bastard said, his voice quiet.

"Come now Jon, have a seat. Greyjoy here reckons he can beat me out in the yard. I was just about to show him the folly of such thoughts, after breakfast." Robb said.

The Greyjoy boy rolled his eyes.

"How about we make it interesting and I take you both on? No point to it otherwise."

"Jon's gonna make you eat dirt Theon!" Arya exclaimed.

"Arya!" Sansa said. "That's very unbecoming of you."

"So what?"

There was a small quirk to the bastards lips. His face was still as expressionless as Ned's but she could detect fondness as he looked at Arya and Sansa. Catelyn frowned, there was nothing she could do about Arya, the girl had taken to her bastard brother since the moment she was born, but Sansa knew better. She had kept him at a distance since she knew it was proper. She wondered what had prompted the boy to look at her eldest daughter like that.

"That's quite alright." The boy said. "There's a few things I wanted to do this morning. I'll meet you both at the practice yard later." 

With that, the bastard gave a slight bow and a murmured "Lady Stark" in her direction. He then promptly turned around and left the Great Hall. Catelyn couldn't help but frown after him. There was a hint of challenge in his gaze towards her that she couldn't remember ever seeing before. Perhaps it had always been there and had never noticed. Perhaps she was more observant now after everything she had been through.

 _Not observant enough_ , she thought with sudden despair. Not enough to realize her son would be murdered at her brother's wedding. _It will never happen_ , she assured herself. _I will protect my family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thats it for now. Next chapter should be Jon's. The inspiration for this fanfic came from The_Sithspawn's amazing work, The Raven's Plan. Check that one out if you want to read something more worthwhile.


	2. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your kind words. You inspired me to write the second chapter much faster than I was planning to. 
> 
> One quick clarification. This will be mostly book based but not entirely. There will be some show stuff as well. There will also be no Lady Stoneheart. I had couple of ideas for her but discarded them all because it was too big a headache. 
> 
> In any case, enjoy and let me know what you think.

Jon walked out of the Great Hall, trying not to tremble. It had seemed like something out of the sweetest dreams, seeing all his siblings sitting peacefully, smiling, and more importantly, alive. He hadn't even minded seeing Lady Stark whose frowns he found didn't have the same power over him that they once did. It had taken all he had not to run up to Robb and give him the firmest hug he could, or Arya or Sansa…

He hadn't been honest with them, he didn't actually have anything else to do but when he had come face to face with them it had been so hard to act as if everything was as it should. He had to escape, for now at least. He did promised to spar with Robb later. 

Jon grinned with pure happiness. He would be sparing with Robb in just a few moments. It didn't seem real. 

That morning he had woken up feeling the most confused he had ever felt. Jon had thought he had been in one of his usual nightmares, one of the more cruel ones, before the phantom pain he felt slowly fading from his heart had reminded him of where he was and when. They had done it. Their plan had worked against all odds. He realized he hadn't truly believed it would until that very moment. 

Deciding to kill some time before having to meet up with Robb, Jon made his way over to the godswood. He passed by sentinels and ironoaks in the lush of summer and not burned by dragonfire as he last remembered them being. The humus that laid thick on the godswood floor padded his footsteps and Jon breathed in the familiar scent of moist earth. He eventually stood before the heart tree and Jon sat down on his favorite spot, a moss-covered stone. The one his father always sat in.

He closed his eyes and gave thanks to the gods. He gave thanks that his and Bran’s desperate plan had worked. That he had been given a second chance to save his loved ones. Absentmindedly Jon rubbed his chest, right above his heart. He reaffirmed every oath and vow he had ever held dear. He would guard the realms of men. He would protect Sansa. He would protect them all.

Once he was done, he opened his eyes and just sat in contented silence, enjoying the peace of the godswood and the warmth of the sun streaming in from holes in the canopy overhead. He hadn't felt it in so long…

* * *

It wasn't long after that Jon found himself in the practice yard with Robb and Theon, the two proclaiming they would beat the other. Jon wasn't entirely sure what had brought about their sudden competitiveness but luckily, his reputation for sullen silences meant he didn't have to ask. 

Jon made his way to the rack with the blunted training swords and tested each one. He gave a dissatisfied sigh. For a long time he had his personal training swords made to resemble and feel like Longclaw. None of these were anywhere close. He eventually grabbed one that was at least somewhat the same length and made his way back to spectate the bout. 

With a practiced eye, he watched them go at it. Robb had always been good, Jon only ever being slightly better. Theon was holding his own however. Perhaps Jon had given him too little credit or perhaps he was just too used to associating him with that wretched creature Ramsey had created. 

Watching the young Ironman, Jon came to a decision. He had never fully forgiven Reek, even after his death. This Theon, arrogant and pompous ass that he was, had done nothing wrong. He had been taken from his father at a young age and was then forced to pick between his two families. 

Jon knew what that was like.

He would help Theon this time around. He would ignore his annoying smirks and his boasting and he would see that he lived. After all, he had once said at this same boy's funeral pyre, that while Reek was Ramsey's creature, Theon Greyjoy was a Stark. 

With a loud clash, Theon's sword was ripped from his hands and then Robb's blade was at his throat.

"Yield?"

They were both breathing hard and it had been a good match. Nothing to be ashamed of on either side but Jon could already see Theon getting petulant. Jon rolled his eyes, it would be difficult not to throttle him first.

"Not bad." Jon said. "The two of you together might be able to take on Old Nan someday."

Robb snorted but Theon drew back in anger.

"I'd like to see you do better Snow." The Ironborn said heatedly

"With pleasure." Jon replied. He gave a few practice swings of his sword and then rolled his arm at the shoulder. "To whom goes the first lesson?"

"Someone woke up confident today." Robb said with amusement. "I'll claim Jon's generous teachings as the spoils of my victory."

"Just because he won last time. Can you believe it Robb?" Theon said, his usual smirk back in place. "Some people really should know their place."

"Oh my sincere apologies" Jon couldn't help but reply. "I wouldn't dare to presume myself above the esteemed position of _ward."_

That certainly wiped the smirk off the boy's face. Jon gave an inward sigh. Already he was having difficulties living up to his decision to help the Greyjoy. 

Robb, as he always had, interceded before their animosity got too heated. He made his way to the center of the yard and took up a stance.

"Come on then Jon. Let's see if this newfound bravado of yours is well placed."

Jon followed and took up a mirroring stance. It was one he hadn't taken in a long time, one taught to him and his brothers by Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's Master-at-Arms. It felt very nostalgic to do so even if his usual style these days bore only the slightest resemblance to the one he learned in his boyhood. He would have to remember it lest they grew suspicious. 

The two brothers gazes were locked, their eyes weighing and their swords waiting for the smallest opening. Jon decided to give him one. He glanced at Robb's shoulder, indicating he would go for a strike and Robb's blade flashed, quick as a snake. Jon met it just as quickly. The two then began in earnest, the clang of their clashing swords filling the courtyard. 

Again, Jon admitted Robb was very skilled. He wondered what level his brother might have reached had he lived. Jon was especially impressed that Robb was this good at just three and ten. He had never realized it before, mainly due to only having Theon and himself for comparison. Robb was a prodigy at the blade. He wasn't, however, a White Walker. His blows didn't have a strength no human would ever possess, he didn't have that same innate, cold grace that came with each movement. His strikes weren't so quick that they appeared almost invisible. Robb was very good, but he wasn't a monster, and Jon had been fighting monsters for a very long time.

With an absent minded ease, Jon blocked each of Robb's strikes. He didn't go on the offense, he didn't wish to end it. He lost himself in one of his favorite boyhood pastimes. Again, the realization that he was sparring with Robb, of all people, dawned on him. Out of all his siblings he had doted the most on Arya. It was only natural, they were both outcasts their own home, him with his bastardry and her with her refusal to conform to what was expected of a lady of her station. His little sister was more precious to him than he could possibly express. But with Robb it had always been far different. Jon could not remember a time without Robb in it. They had grown up as practically twins. They had been each other's shadows. They learned the same lessons, competed in the same exercises, and knew each other as well as they knew themselves. Robb had always been his staunchest ally even against his own mother. He had been the golden heir, so good and noble and charming that Jon had been hard pressed to be envious having everything Jon had ever wanted. _He has to live,_ Jon thought fervently. _He will inherit Winterfell and his children after him._

Jon could see his brother getting frustrated, his breathing came faster as did his blows. He tried for feints that would have once worked. He fought much harder than he had just done so against Theon but Jon didn't give him an inch.

Robb suddenly stumbled, his sword coming wide and at an angle that Jon easily sidestepped. For a moment, Robb was defenseless, Jon could have swung at his chest or his neck or even his wrist to make him drop his sword. Jon forgoed doing so. He took a step back and held his blade in a semblance of a salute. He then took a stance once more. 

Robb turned angry eyes his way.

"You are mocking me brother."

"Nothing of the sort, I did say it was a lesson." Jon replied easily. "Watch your footwork."

Robb gave a huff. 

"Take it seriously, not once did you swing at me."

"Perhaps you never afforded me the opportunity." 

Robb gave him a glare full of doubt.

"Well, something certainly feels different about you today. Have you been secretly practicing?"

Jon smiled. "You caught me."

"Well alright then." Robb said, his voice imbued with all the authority of the Heir to the North. "Show me the fruits of this training." 

Jon looked at his brother. He had been given an order and a King he might have been, but Jon had grown up his whole life believing he would serve Robb one day. _Alright then, so be it._

Robb came at him once more, his eyes full of determination but just as quickly it was over. Robb's sword, which Jon had knocked out of his hands upwards into the air and then caught as it came down, was pointed at it's owner's throat. 

Robb looked at him with wide eyes and the silence around them was deafening. Jon looked around. The inhabitants of Winterfell, which were previously carrying on with their day, now stood frozen. Some with their mouths wide open as they regarded them. Regarded him. He could even see Arya, who had been making her way towards them, standing still in shock.

Jon gave an inward groan. So much for being inconspicuous. 

"Yield?" Jon finally asked.

"I would be a fool not to." Robb said, visibly swallowing. "Must have been really intense training."

"You could say that." Jon said. 

He handed the practice sword back to Robb who still looked visibly shaken. Jon could not help but glance at Theon. The boy looked completely flabbergasted. Jon tried to push down the sudden burst of petty satisfaction. 

The crowd that had gathered was starting to disperse by the time Arya finally made her way to them. 

"Jon! That was amazing!" She said.

"I’ll say, our brother has been practicing behind our backs, dear sister. What say you to that?"

“You have?” Arya said in confusion. “When?”

“Whenever I have a spare moment.” Jon said, keeping his face straight. He knew that out of all them, Arya would be the first to think something amiss. 

“Well in any case, perhaps next time I will join you.” Robb said. “Can’t have you getting too ahead of me.”

“Anytime.” 

Now that he thought of it, it was not a terrible idea to make sure Robb was as trained with a sword as he could be. Any little thing could save his life one day.

“How about you Greyjoy?” Jon asked, finally addressing the Ironborn boy who had been uncharacteristically quiet all this time. “Care to join us?”

Theon only scowled at him.

“I’ll pass.” He then turned to Robb. “I’m thinking of heading down to Wintertown later, want to join me?”

Once again, Jon gave an inward sigh. It would be difficult to reach the boy, they hadn't ever been friendly.

“Perhaps.” Robb replied. “There were a few things I wanted to purchase.”

With a nod to Robb, Theon stalked away. They watched him go for a moment.

“Well you certainly ruffled his feathers Jon.” Robb said

“Squids don’t have feathers.” Arya said with a grin.

Jon smiled at his little sister. An impish Arya, cracking jokes, he truly was reliving his boyhood days. 

“Theon does.” He told her, still smiling. “He is more rooster than kraken with how he prances about.”

She laughed and even Robb hid a guilty smile.

“You two are terrible.” He said in amused exasperation. “I should probably go see if his feathers can be unruffled.”

Robb gave them a slight bow. “Brother, sweet sister.” He then walked away, following after the Greyjoy. 

After he was out of sight, Arya squinted her nose. 

“Robb's been prancing too.” She declared.

Jon could hear her mutter “Sweet sister” in disgust under her breath. He ruffled her hair. 

“Don’t be too hard on Robb, he is going to be a Lord one day and all Lords prance.”

Arya looked at him doubtfully.

“Father doesn't prance.”

“And how do you know that?” He asked in mock seriousness. “Perhaps he does it when you're not around, when he's with all the other Lords.”

Arya gave him a scandalized look, likely trying to picture Ned Stark doing just that.

* * *

For the rest of the morning, Jon spent his time with his little sister. She showed him interesting things she had found and introduced him to the son of a maid she had befriended whom Jon could not remember ever meeting. At one point she begged for more archery lessons and Jon could not refuse her. He certainly did not regret it once he saw how excited she became. 

All the while he marveled at her. In his past life, after she disappeared from King's Landing, he had feared the worst. Then, when he had heard of her supposed marriage to the Bolton bastard, he had felt sick to his stomach but determined to rescue her. Finally, when he ran into a terrified Jayne Poole he had at last given up hope. He had mourned his little sister and his grief had almost made him give up in reclaiming Winterfell. It had taken being reunited with his other sister to bring him back from the edge.

Much later, he had finally seen her again and while he had been beyond glad at being reunited, Arya had not been as he remembered her. She had been almost an entirely different person. She had been getting better, near the end. Slowly, a girl that was no one was becoming Arya Stark once more. But even that Arya could never smile as this one did, having hit the center of the target they had set up in a brighter section of the godswood. She couldn't beam at him like she was now while he praised her and ruffled her hair.

 _This too, I will protect ,_ Jon vowed _. My family will live and they will live happily._

Sometime later, Jon and Arya were walking towards the kitchen for a late lunch. She was still boasting about her shot and Jon was teasing her about getting a big head. As they walked he observed the people of Winterfell. There was an atmosphere to the place he hasn't felt in a really long time. His tenure of Winterfell, short as it was, had been nowhere near as oppressive as the Bolton's but there was always a certain thread of worry that permeated the castle. He could feel what a difference a few years made. Everyone he saw went about their day without a care in the world. Their smiles weren't strained, their laughter was louder.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sansa walking with Jayne Poole, neither of them deigning to glance in their direction and he forcibly shut down the immediate feelings of longing he felt. Such thoughts wouldn't do. He was so distracted he almost missed Lady Stark standing right of them with a scowl on her face. She looked at her daughter.

"Where were you?" She asked a suddenly frozen Arya. "Septa Mordane said you were not at your lessons today."

Jon could have kicked himself. He had forgotten. As a boy he had kept a careful track of time whenever he was with Arya to avoid this very same situation.

"I-I w-was.." 

"It was completely my fault, Lady Stark." Jon interjected. "I lost track of time."

The look of disgust she gave him certainly felt like old times.

"I am well aware." She said acidly. "If my daughter wishes to spend her time with you, I will not interfere." 

The way she said it made seem the equivalent of rolling around with the hounds in the kennels.

"But I will not tolerate her lessons being disrupted. A Lord's daughter has a great deal of important skills she must learn."

 _Unlike a bastard like you_. Jon could it hear it despite the words never coming out of her mouth. He was suddenly tempted, so very tempted, to shatter her entire world view. Instead he took a deep breath and only said.

"I am well aware of that, Lady Stark, I was presumptuous. It shall not happen again. I do ask your forgiveness."

He gave her a deep bow but all it did was cause her to give him an ugly glare. Her hate for him, typically hidden only skin deep, came full on into the surface.

With hands rigid in anger, she grabbed her daughter by the arm and marched back into the keep. Arya giving him one last look of misery before disappearing behind the double doors. 

Jon blinked. Had she thought he was mocking her? He replayed his words in his mind and groaned. He supposed he had been mocking her then. He really did need to get better at this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sword fights are hard, I have come to find out. If you found Jon to be different than you were expecting him to be its because he is. He changed a lot in his past life and learned a few things as well.
> 
> Next up, another Cat chapter.


	3. Catelyn II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write for some reason. I am still not entirely pleased with it. Let me know what you think.

Over the next few days, Catelyn did her best to reacquaint herself with running Winterfell. She hadn't forgotten how but she had struggled at first with reconciling two different sets of memories. Every now and then she would say something and Maester Luwin or Vayon Poole would look at her like she was insane. She would then remember that no, that shipment of grain hadn't arrived yet and wouldn't do so for another seven months. They luckily didn't ask any questions, likely thinking her distracted by her husband's imminent return. They weren't completely wrong, she had been counting the days. 

Also due to Ned's absence, she was responsible for overseeing the North in his name. It wasn't a particularly onerous task, the Northern Lords mostly kept to themselves and didn't really ask for anything unless it was important. The one exception being during the Greyjoy Rebellion, where she had to wrangle with wives and seconds sons that had been left in a similar situation so that she could keep her husband's supply lines well provisioned. All the while pregnant. The hateful old squid hadn't surrendered fast enough.

Serving such a function did provide an opportunity. She knew a war was more than likely inevitable. If Cersei Lannister's children were actually illegitimate bastards then the truth would eventually come out and the realm would bleed for it. She intended to make sure House Stark came out ahead. She had sent out ravens instructing the various Lords with increasing their food production, citing the possible wildling threat as a reason to best be prepared. She knew even a single additional harvest would be quite beneficial. 

However, there was only so much she could do without arousing suspicion. She wanted every blacksmith forging swords and spears and every man learning to use them. Fear of wildling raids, while a fact of life for many, would not mobilize the North as she would wish. Catelyn found herself agreeing with the Greatjon in hoping for a King-beyond-the-wall, it would certainly light a fire under them. She faintly recalled hearing that a man named Mance Rayder would come to claim such a title but she couldn't recall what had come of it. In any case, regardless of what level of threat this man possessed, Catelyn would make certain that the name Mance Rayder was feared throughout the North. 

It was on the third day of Catelyn's new life that an even bolder possibility presented itself.

She was sitting in Ned's solar, nursing a cup of wine, when her eyes spotted a report from White Harbor amidst the missives and the ledgers. The North didn't really have spies, not in the same way the south did, but she still liked keeping herself abreast of happenings out in the world. The report stated that a ship had arrived from Pentos bearing news. A Magister, one Illyrio Mopatis, had taken in the Mad King's children. She initially dismissed the news, thinking it of no importance but then an idea took hold.

Whether as an independent Kingdom or as part of the fold, the North would need the right person on the Iron Throne. They would need someone who could oppose the Lannisters and who would be friendly to northern interests. She could not imagine supporting any of the claimants from her previous life. Renly had proven himself overly indulgent, and while she was sure that Ned would prefer Stannis, the memory of that creature of shadow bearing his face still made her shiver. 

The idea was a little mad, she could admit. The North bore little love for Aerys or his son, understandingly so. It might, however, be worth exploring. From what she had heard, Viserys Targeryan had been a fugitive for most of his life. People even called him the Beggar King. She imagined he would be duly grateful to the House that placed him on his families throne, perhaps, even if that same House had taken it from them in the first place. He would also, by virtue of being a Targeryan, be an effective method of securing southern allies. The Tyrells held all that they had thanks to the Conqueror, and they had held onto their oath even in the face of Aerys’s madness, something not even her own family had been willing to do, despite their debts being similar. The Martells, she figured, would likely jump at the chance of revenge against the Lannisters. 

_Crowning the boy might bear fruit_ , Catelyn mused. She even briefly considered having Robb marry the Targaryen girl to secure the alliance before shying away from the thought. The last time she had brokered a betrothal for her son, it had ended disastrously. She would think on it further, it was certainly a possibility but any actions she took would have to be behind Ned's back. It was not something she relished on doing.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Setting down the missive from White Harbor as well as the ideas that came with it, she called out.

“Enter.”

Maester Luwin strode in, a small smile on his lips.

“Good news Maester?” Catelyn asked as she took a sip from her cup.

He shook his head. “I have concluded young Brandon’s lessons for the day.” He said. “He is a very charming lad.” 

Catelyn smiled herself. He is indeed. _A sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love,_ Ned had once said. 

"What has he done?" She asked fondly.

“We were covering the reign of Jaehaerys the Wise but all the boy wished to do was discuss Ser Ryam Redwyne and his joust with Ser Clement Crabb.” Maester Luwin said as he rubbed his chin. “I would dare say the lad knows more about the famous Lord Commander than I do.”

Catelyn frowned slightly, more talk of Targeryans. For a moment she wondered at the temperament of this Viserys. Was he his father's son? She sincerely hoped not. They would need a Jaehaerys, not a Maegor. Setting the thought aside once more, she looked at Maester Luwin.

“Bran has always been fascinated by the famous Knights of history.”

“Yes, I do believe he wishes to be one.” The Maester then stayed quiet, likely not thinking it his place to say more but Catlyn heard the question.

“I have been thinking of speaking to Ned about it. I am sure my uncle Brynden would love to take him on as a squire, once he is older.”

“Lord Stark might not care for having his son so far away.” Maester Luwin said in a careful tone. 

Catelyn sighed, that was true enough. Her husband had not outright said it, but while she knew that he had enjoyed his own fostering in the Vale, it had pained him to be apart from his family. He wouldn't wish that on his son. _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives,_ Ned was fond of saying. Despite how much she herself would miss her boy, she would have to make her husband understand that his fostering had been due to Lord Rickard’s southern ambitions and that Bran truly did want this. 

For now, all she said was. “Then perhaps the Manderlys.”

Maester Luwin gave a slight bow. “Very good, my Lady.”

He then pulled out two rolled up letters from one of his sleeves and handed them to her.

“These arrived through the night”

Catelyn examined them, one bore a seal with the black axe of House Cerwyn and the other, the horse head and double axes that was the personal sigil of Lady Barbrey Dustin. Deciding to get the easier one out the way first, Catelyn opened the letter from House Cerwyn.

“Lord Medgar requests that we inform him whenever Ned arrives.” She said. “He says he wishes to discuss the wilding threat personally and that he will be bringing his son and heir to meet Robb.”

“Ah yes, young Clay Cerwyn, a few years older than Lord Robb from what I remember.” The Maester said with a pensive frown. “A few more still than the Lady Sansa.”

Catelyn looked at him in surprise. “You believe he will wish to discuss a betrothal? To Sansa?”

The very idea seemed ludicrous.

“Lord Medgar does have a reputation. Especially after his ill luck at finding a match for his daughter, the Lady Jonelle.”

“Yes, I know. But with Sansa?”

Catelyn knew she had sworn to find northern husbands for her daughters but a small part of her, a very southern part of her, still considered all of these people unworthy of them. 

At the moment, all Catelyn could do was shake her head in disbelief.

“The man is bold, I have to admit, but Sansa is much too young for any talk of betrothals.” 

It also wouldn't be with Clay Cerwyn, regardless of what she had sworn. She still had time, she would find someone honorable, someone just like her Ned. 

“Indeed, my lady.” Maester Luwin said.

Setting aside Lord Medgar’s letter, Catelyn picked up the other one and began reading it. By the time she was done, her hands were gripping the letter in anger and Maester Luwin was looking at her in concern.

“That horrid woman!” Catelyn spat.

“My lady?”

“It’s Barbrey Dustin, that petty wretch, she is refusing to cooperate with my orders to increase the planting. Oh not outright no, but she says she lacks the men and that she is sure the wildings aren’t a threat and that wouldn't it make so much more sense to ask my father, that was why Lord Stark married me, after all.” 

Catelyn ripped the letter apart until small pieces of parchment littered the desk and then drained the remainder of her cup of wine. Maester Luwin seemed frozen in the face of her outburst.

“I have half a mind to go put Barrowton to the torch.” She said savagely. 

“Lady Stark!” Maester Luwin said in shock.

His voice pulled her up short and Catelyn grimaced in embarrassment. Gods, what was happening to her? These sudden bouts of viciousness had come at times as of late, leaving her feeling sick afterward. It was typically when she thought of her enemies and what she would do to them. She imagined having Joffrey Waters beheaded while making his mother watch so that she too could understand what it had felt like loose a child. She imagined having Roose Bolton flayed, like he had once offered to do for Theon, right before the end. She imagined every Frey with a noose around their throats. Catelyn feared what she was becoming.

Not meeting the Maester in the eyes, she refilled her glass of wine from the pitcher at her desk. 

“My apologies, Maester Luwin, I merely worry for husband.”

He took a step forward and looked at her in deep concern.

“Lady Stark, I have known you for a long time and I can tell there is something wrong. Won’t you speak to me?”

“Everything is well, I’m sure it's just stress.” Catelyn lied

“Ever since that day, when I gave you Lord Stark’s letter.” The Maester insisted. “I saw your face, My Lady, it was the face of someone in terrible grief. What has happened?”

Catelyn then stood, drawing up her whole height.

“That will be all, Master Luwin, I thank you for your concern but it won’t be needed. I have told you that everything is at it should.”

The Maester did not look convinced but nevertheless, he gave her a deep bow and strode out of the solar, leaving her alone with the ghosts of an old life. 

* * *

Feeling too wound up to do anymore work, Catelyn walked the halls of Winterfell, trying to clear her head. It was almost soothing, she felt, watching the servants go about their work. There was a normalcy to it that she had missed. The people weren't preparing for a siege or to welcome an army. They were carrying on with the tasks they had always done. There was a lack of urgency in their movements, an easiness to their steps that she hadn't seen in a longtime. It was almost tempting to join them. She knew she couldn't, if she let her guard down and relaxed, her family's fate would end the same. Perhaps that had been what had plagued House Stark, a lack of urgency. While the south plotted and scheemed and kept themselves sharp, the north stagnated and were easy prey. _Not so, this time_ Catelyn vowed. _The wolves will feast._

As she walked, Catelyn could not help but feel as if the task ahead was overly daunting. When she had first woken up, it had all seemed so easy. She had to change the future and she possessed the knowledge and the will to do so. She hadn't given much thought as to how to actually go about doing so. It had all started with the death of Jon Arryn. It was his death that had forced Ned to go south but Catelyn was hardly in a position to save his life from the Lannisters. Perhaps Ned could do something but she was not sure on how to convince him that his mentors life was in danger. If she told him the truth all it would do was convince him that she was insane, she was sure.

Even if she could save Jon Arryn’s life, once the truth of Cersei’s children was out, war would follow and Ned would have to call his banners and still ride south. This was marginally better, Catlyn supposed, her husband had proven himself in war many times, he would not be as vulnerable as he had been as Hand of the King. Catelyn would still worry. Her son had come to prove himself in war as well and it had not saved him. 

There was also Riverrun to consider, she though in mounting dismay. She could not allow the ravages that had befallen the lands of her family a second time. She had to protect Edmure and, she thought with a pang of grief, she had to see her father one last time, while he could still recognize her.

Eventually, her steps, almost of their own volition, took her to her favorite spot in Winterfell and she couldn't help but cease her thoughts and smile. Her sept, small as it was, was still Ned’s sweetest gift to her besides her children. When she had first arrived in this frozen place, a babe in her arms, and had looked at the grey walls of Winterfell, she had despaired. It was so different from vivrant Riverun. The people so much less expressive, the gods so foreign and remote, and to top it all off, her new husband had welcomed her with a bastard in her son’s nursing room. Catelyn had resigned herself to a dreary, miserable life in her new home. 

When Ned, almost shyly, had told her that he had ordered construction of a sept for her, she had been shocked but still dismissive. A sept could not make up for his dishonor, it could not make up for the shame he had brought her. Half a year later, she had begun to think differently. By then she had seen the measure of Eddard Stark. The gentleness in which he held Robb, the firmness with which he address his Lords. The words that he, barring one exception, always kept. She had not loved him then but she had begun to respect him. 

When the sept had been finished and she had smelled the scent of incense and heard the hymns sung by Septon Chayle, she had almost wept. It had seemed like a tiny piece of her childhood home just for her. She had looked at Ned then and when she saw his quietly proud look at making her so happy. Catelyn had realized that yes, she could come to love this man. 

She lit a candle before six carved masks and knelt, closed her eyes and prayed. She asked the Mother to keep her family safe and the Father that justice would come to those that had wronged them. She asked the Smith and the Crone to give her the strength and wisdom she lacked last time. She asked the Warrior for good fortune in the wars to come. 

* * *

Later that night, Catelyn walked towards Great Keep, her mind much more at ease than earlier but still feeling somewhat guilty. She had just finished eating dinner with her family, all the while Arya had shot her pleading glances. She had punished her daughter after her excursion with her bastard half-brother by forbidding her from playing with Bran and ordering her to practice the high harp, the lesson she had missed, on her free time. Now Catelyn wondered if she had been too heavy handed. She had been mad at her daughter but mostly she had been angry at the bastard’s insolence. Now that she had time to calm herself, she admitted her daughter should not have to pay for that boy’s disrespect.

Making up her mind, she changed directions and started to head over to Arya’s bedchamber. As she got near her door, she winced at the sound of discordant strings filling the hallway. 

Catelyn opened the door and beheld her youngest daughter. Arya was sitting on a stool, plucking at a harp that was almost twice her length. Her expression was one of pure misery and it didn't change when Catelyn entered.

The two looked at each before Catelyn sighed and sat on the bed. 

“Well?” She began “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes.” Arya said sullenly.

“Why must you give me so much difficulty, Arya? Your sister never balks at her duties like this.”

“Well, we can’t all be perfect Sansa.” Arya muttered under her breath, loud enough for Catelyn to hear.

“Sansa could play the high harp quite well, even at your age.”

Arya remained silent, her eyes fixed on the wall.

"Not immediately of course, she practiced. I'm sure you remember."

"What I am trying to say is that your sister…"

Arya stood up suddenly, knocking the stool over, her hands balled at her side. Catelyn's words died in her throat.

“Sansa likes all of this!" Her daughter yelled. “She is good at it. She has pretty, delicate hands while I have hands like a blacksmith!”

Catelyn sat in shock as her daughter continued her outburst.

“Sansa is the perfect daughter, I know this. She can dance and sing and her needlework is as pretty as she is. I'm just Arya Horseface!"

There were tears in her daughter's eyes now but her voice was just as strong. As if she was voicing thoughts that had long festered.

"But I don't understand what the point of any of this is! Why do I have to learn to play this stupid thing or the bells or recite poetry? It doesn't do anything for anyone. It's all useless!"

She finished in a shout and silence filled the room. Catelyn looked at her daughter in dismay. She felt like a fool for never noticing before. Arya felt inadequate when compared to her sister. How could she not, Catelyn wondered, when the measuring stick used favoured Sansa so much. Her eldest daughter excelled in all the crafts of womanhood, she had been a lady at three. She had followed Catelyn around all her life, her own pretty little shadow, sharing the same interests and attitudes. Catelyn had know Arya had different inclinations but had refused to accept it.

With a pang of guilt, Catelyn realized she had caused this. She had been so assured, so narrow in her thinking, that there was only one path in life her daughters could ever follow. The path that she herself had followed her entire life. It had worked for her, she had a wonderful husband and children she loved more than life itself. It seemed to be working for Sansa. She took delight in all feminine pursuits. Looking at her now sobbing daughter, Catelyn tried to picture Arya secluded in a keep somewhere, married to some Lord, mending his breeches. Her daughter would hate it. She would spend her entire life miserable because her mother refused to accept her for herself.

At one point in her life Catelyn would have dismissed such thoughts. A man's duties towards the family was in the battlefield and a woman's in the sept. When she had been promised to Brandon Stark, all she had felt was excitement at getting to marry such an eligible and dashing young heir. When Brandon had died, she had been disappointed at marrying the quieter, more reserved brother, but she had done her duty and to her joy, had found Ned to be everything Brandon could never have been. 

She was different now, however, she had seen more. She had met Brianne of Tarth who had spoken of different types of courage. She had seen Maege and Dacey Mormont ride out with Robb against the Lannisters. Her path, she realized now, was not the only path.

Taking a deep breath, Catelyn made a decision and addressed her daughter.

"You don't enjoy your lessons?"

Arya mutely shook her head.

"Very well, you will join Bran in all of his then."

Her daughter's eyes got big as plates and her mouth hung wide open. It would have amused Catelyn if she wasn't feeling sick at her realization. 

Arya swallowed and looked away before speaking with false disinterest. 

"Even.."

"Yes, you will join him and Master Cassel out in the yard. You never listened to Septa Mordane but you will listen to him. I better not hear any complaints."

At last, the widest smile broke out on her daughters face and Catelyn knew she had made the right choice.

"Oh, Thank you! Thank you!" Arya exclaimed, wiping the tears that had streamed down her cheeks. "There won't be any, I promise!"

She then dashed forward and hugged her arms around Catelyn's waist. Her face pressed against her mother's stomach. Catelyn held her daughter and passed her hands through her hair.

After a while, a thought came to Catelyn and she tilted Arya’s face up with a finger. 

"Who called you horseface?"

"No one, don't worry about." Arya said, suddenly looking embarrassed.

"Was it Sansa?" 

"No!" Arya said forcibly. "I mean, she never actually said it.."

It have been Jayne Poole then, or Beth Cassel. Catelyn would have to have some words with her eldest daughter.

"Well, you don't look like a horse, you look like a Stark." Catelyn said in a firm tone. "And every Stark I have ever met has been very good looking."

She could see her daughter looked doubtful and when she said "Jon looks like a Stark and you hate him" Catelyn chose to ignore it. Could she never escape him?

"In fact, you mostly look like your Aunt Lyanna, from what I can remember of her."

"Lyanna was said to be beautiful." Arya said, looking startled.

"She was." Catelyn agreed. "Beautiful enough to drive men to war."

"That seems silly."

"Men can be silly, as can little girls, do not listen to theirs words."

Arya seemed to consider for a moment before nodding. 

Catelyn let go of her daughter and walked over the high harp in the center of the room. She leaned over and righted the stool before placing a hand on the harp.

"I will have someone come in and take this stupid thing away." Catelyn said and smiled at her daughter. "You won't see it again, I promise."

Arya gave her that same wide smile from before but seemed to have no more words. She looked exhausted.

"Now go on and get ready for bed, I expect you to be right on time for Maester Luwins lessons."

Arya nodded and Catelyn started making her way out of the room but when she got to the door, her daughter called out.

"Mother?"

Catelyn looked back.

"Thank you, for understanding.”

And all Catelyn could do was nod before heading out and closing the door behind her. She did understand, she just wished it hand’t taken her dying and then living anew to finally do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have ended focusing more on Arya than I was planning. I'll have to see about giving poor Sansa some screen time.


	4. Jon II

Jon woke with a gasp. His panicked breath rattling in his chest, furtive eyes darting back and forth over the unfamiliar ceiling. Dread pooled at the pit of his stomach. He struggled with the blankets, at that moment, they seemed like the grasping hands of the dead. Slowly, he remembered where he was. 

The dream had been a familiar one, although not one he had experienced since his return. It was a dream of a dragon falling and then rising, of Winterfell burning and of all their hopes turning to ash. It was a dream of the once amethyst eyes of their savior burning blue and then fading as he pulled Longclaw free.

Jon shuddered. That day had not been the end, it had been the beginning of a long nightmare that hadn't ended till the Isle of faces. 

It was a nightmare that would once again become reality, Jon knew, unless he found a way to change everything. He was all that stood between mankind and eternal death. Between his families and their complete destruction. He was the shield that guards the realm of men.

Doing so was proving harder than he had envisioned. When Bran had suggested this mad plan, Jon had been more preoccupied with whether it would work. He had not actually given much thought to what actions he would have to undertake.

As it turned out, much to Jon's rediscovered chagrin, there was not much a ten and three bastard boy could actually do to affect the affairs of the realm. 

With an annoyed grunt he got up from bed and started preparing himself to start his day.

His only avenue for influence, Jon conceded as he washed his face, would be his father. Ned Stark, as Warden of the North, would be in a position to both ready the North for war and reinforce the Watch. Both things which Jon considered essential. There was only the small matter of convincing him. Telling him the truth was an option, albeit one he was wished to save as a last recourse. Once told, there would be no untelling and Jon was not sure he could predict how his father would react. 

As Jon got ready, he paused and examined himself in the mirror. It was almost unsettling, looking at his reflection, almost like looking at a stranger. Where he had once seen a man, hardened by an almost daily battle for survival, now a boy stood in his place. Scars that were of the utmost familiarity were replaced by smooth skin. The only exception, though Jon did not know why, being right over his heart. Two crisscrossing scars were the only evidence that he was not the boy who looked back at him. Jon's fingers brushed the newer scar. The first one had marked betrayal but this one, he hoped, would mark hope. Twice he had died and twice he had lived. Jon fervently hoped there would never be a third time.

He stopped his rumination and finished getting ready, his thoughts turning once more on what he could do to change the future. He could not join the Watch, not this time. While he had met friends there, met brothers, the Wall was too remote and too little respected. He would never find allies if he was stuck as a sworn brother. 

Of course, this only brought up the other issue. If he was not at the Wall then he would not be able to help the Free Folk. Jon knew he had to save them, not only were they living, breathing people who deserved to live, everyone of them was also a Wight waiting to happen. He had to get them south somehow. He again thought of his father, if he could just convince him of the threat, he might be able to convince him to let them settle south. Perhaps in Sea Dragon's Point or in the Stony Shore. 

Still mulling over his options, he made his way out the door, intending to ask his wife for counsel. He took three steps before he stopped, one foot in the air. 

With a heavy heart, Jon expelled his breath and put his foot down. It had not been the first time this had happened. The routine and habits of years working against him. Each time it was more painful than the last. Each time the loss became more and more real. This was another aspect he hadn't fully considered before making his way back to his boyhood. All his thoughts had been to making sure she was protected, to making sure she would never suffer the horrors she once did. It really should have dawned on him that it would mean losing her. Had he known he was saying goodbye forever, he would have held her one more time, would have kissed her one more time. He recalled the sadness in her eyes, right before the end. She must have known. Jon Snow knew he was an idiot.

You don’t have a wife, Jon told himself firmly. You have a distant sister, at best. 

With that he spun around and walked through the hallway with forceful steps. He tried desperately to keep her out of his mind but considering his luck, he really shouldn't have been surprised to have run into her as he walked out the doors of the great keep.

The two froze when they saw one another. Jon instantly felt a multitude of emotions. Primarily joy, despite knowing better, but he also felt sadness, and a terrible longing for that connection they once shared.

Jon swallowed and closed his eyes. He needed to get away. He opened his eyes and to his shock, she had walked over and was standing right in front of him. She opened her mouth and was about to speak before closing it, eyeing him curiously.

“Is something the matter, Jon?”  
"Y-yes. No!" He stuttered. "Everything is fine!"  
She peered at him in contemplation. "Does it have to do whatever is happening with Arya and mother? That's what I wished to ask you about. Neither Robb or Bran have any idea."  
He looked at her. Arya? What?  
"I'm sorry?"  
She sighed. "Well, it doesn't seem like you know either."   
She then gave him an imperious nod of her head.   
"Good day, Jon"  
And with that, she strode past him without another word, leaving him in his jumbled thoughts.

He watched her go and each step she took tore at him anew. Please don't go, a part of his mind begged, you're all I have. It was not entirely true, not anymore, but for so long he had relied on only her to keep him sane, to keep him whole. 

It was a small sacrifice, he knew, his bond with Sansa for the survival of mankind. For her survival.

Then why does it hurt so much?

Jon needed to clear his head. He turned away and walked in the opposite direction. He cursed himself for a fool, indulging in pointless self pity while so much was at stake.

He decided to go find Robb. His brother had been joining him in his training, as promised and Jon could do with losing himself in the sword at the moment. 

As he walked, Jon absentmindedly felt at the spot of his scars, he tried to push aside the memories but they came anyway. He remembered the day his army, composed mostly of Free Folk, a few Northern Lords, and the remnants of Stannis’s host, had stumbled into another army, one much bigger, that belonged to the Lords of the Vale. There had been fear among Jon’s followers that they were reinforcements for the Boltons but Jon had not cared. He had discovered that Arya had never been in Winterfell. Everything had been pointless. The war, his efforts, even his death. Nothing waited for him in his home besides gray walls and as many bad memories as good ones. Jon had almost wanted the Valeman to attack to finally end it all. That is, until he had realized she was the one leading them.

Jon hurried his steps, he really needed to find Robb. 

He made his way to the courtyard, still lost in his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bran and Arya, training with Master Cassel. Jon figured Robb might be…

Jon stopped suddenly and snapped his head back at what he had just seen.

Bran had an attentive look and a smile as he listened to Rodrick Cassel. It was nothing compared to Arya whose face might be in danger of splitting thanks to how wide her grin was. She nodded enthusiastically to whatever it was that was being said. Her skinny arms held a training sword that dragged on the ground. Jon did not know what he was looking at, exactly.

"I see you are as surprised as we are."

Jon jumped. Robb and Theon were standing right next to him. Robb was looking at Arya with a speculative frown. 

“Her mother is going to kill her if she sees this.” Jon said, his voice full of shock.  
Robb raised an eyebrow at him.  
“Who do you think gave her permission?”

"Lady Stark gave permission for her daughter to train with a sword?" Jon asked in disbelief.

"Not just swords, she will share all of Bran's lessons apparently." Robb answered. "I thought Ser Rodrick's eyes would pop out his head when mother informed him."

At that moment, said Master-at-Arms finally finished giving his instructions and Arya and Bran split off and took positions to spar. Arya's training blade wobbled in her skinny arms but her face held nothing but determination. 

"Mother's permission notwithstanding, that blade does not suit her." Robb said.

"No, it does not." Jon said with a smile.

"Begin!" Ser Rodrick yelled and the two were at it.

Bran fought with determination, probably so as to not lose to his sister. Arya, despite her wobbling blade, actually held her own. At one point she executed a surprisingly good parry and Robb let out a pleased sound.

"I taught her that." He said proudly. 

The bout continued and Bran seemed to be pulling ahead. Arya clearly getting tired from swinging the heavy blade. It was then that she dropped low and attempted to swing at Bran’s legs. 

“That one is one of mine.” Jon said with a grin. 

Bran managed to step back in time but stumbled and wasn't able to exploit Arya's opening. She got back up and sparks flew as their intense gazes locked into one another.

"You would think this was a Trial of Combat if you were just passing by." Theon said dryly.

The two began again. Their practice swords clacking, their breath heavy. It seemed both were just about at their limit yet neither seemed ready to give up. It was then that Bran lunged, seemingly ready to end it once and for all, but Arya sidestepped it with some footwork Jon had never taught her and smacked her blade at Bran's side. Despite the padding, the boy yelped.

Jon clapped and Robb let out a whoop. 

Ser Rodrick went to check on Bran who sat on the ground with a miserable expression on his face. Nothing besides his pride seemed injured.

"Nicely done, teaching her that." Robb said.

"I thought that was you." Jon said, puzzled.

"That one was me actually." Theon said. 

"You!?" Jon and Robb exclaimed at the same time.

"Well saying no doesn't really stop the little monster from badgering you does it?" Theon said, not meeting their eyes. He appeared uncharacteristically embarrassed for some reason.

"It doesn't." Robb agreed. "Still, how unfaithful. I can't believe she sought you both out when her favorite brother was already teaching her." 

"You are delusional Stark, if you actually think you are Arya's favorite brother." Jon told him gravely. 

"I'm the favorite brother of every single one of you." Robb said "Just admit it Jon."

If Jon was honest he could admit that Robb really was his favorite brother. The seven hells would swallow him before he ever said it out loud.

"You are nothing compared to Rickon." Jon deadpanned.

"Good choice." Robb agreed easily. "Baby Rickon is my second most wittiest brother after Bran." 

Jon couldn't help but laugh. He was suddenly overcome with a deep sense of nostalgia for days gone by. Which was strange considering he was reliving those days.

"I still can't believe your mother allowed this." He said. "What brought it about?"

“I didn’t believe it at first either.” Theon answered. “But then again, Lady Stark has been acting very strange lately.”

“Oh not this again!” Robb said, exasperated. 

“What do you mean?” Jon asked with a frown.

“Well it’s just, I am starting to think she might hate me.” Theon said, looking uncomfortable. “I can’t say that Lady Stark has ever fully approved of me but the way she looks at me lately, it’s with pure loathing.”

“We finally have something in common Greyjoy.” Jon said but his mind burned with curiosity. 

The boy glared at him but remained silent, clearly preoccupied, Lady Stark must have made an impression on him. What could he have done? His whoring had never been much of a secret but from what Jon could recall, Lady Stark had never expressed more than faint disapproval. Probably due to Robb being smart enough not to follow in the older boy’s footsteps.

“Mother has not been herself lately, I will admit, but it’s probably her just missing father.” Robb said. “I am sure she does not hate you. Why would it happen so suddenly? What have you done?”  
“Nothing!” Theon protested. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Not herself?” Jon asked, even more curious now.

“It actually was fairly strange.” Robb said with a pensive frown. “She was standing outside my door a few mornings ago and when she saw me she burst into tears. It nearly frightened me out of my wits. I thought something had happened to father.” 

Jon’s curiosity was suddenly replaced with a deep sense of foreboding.

“A few mornings ago? When exactly?” He asked, his mouth feeling dry.

Robb looked at him strangely.

“Not certain why it matters but I believe it was four days ago or so.” 

Surely not. Jon thought. Shock rising.

“It was the morning you trounced me so handily in the yard, actually, which reminds me. I still haven’t avenged myself...”

Robb continued speaking but Jon was not listening. He had been back in his boyhood for exactly four days now and it seemed the Lady Stark had been acting strange for just as long.   
A coincidence. It has to be.

Something of his shock must have shown on his face because Robb stopped mid word and looked at him. 

“It’s not just mother acting strange, Jon. You are as well.” Robb said with a tone of accusation. “Not just your newfound skill with a blade. You are also brooding a lot less.” 

“You would think it’d be an improvement.” Theon muttered off to the side. 

“Even Arya mentioned something about it, you have been almost an entirely different person these last few…” Robb paused and blinked. “…days.”

He suddenly straightened and gave Jon a serious look. 

“What is going on Jon?” His brother asked seriously.

“Nothing, I’m sure it's just everyone missing father.” Jon said halfheartedly, his mind still on other implications. 

"Both you and mother have been acting strange since around the same time." Robb accused. He suddenly seemed to have reached some sort of conclusion.

"Did you two have an argument? Did she say anything to you?" Robb demanded.

"Of course not. You know your mother and I do our best to stay away from each other." Jon replied quickly.

"Then what is it?”

Jon had known it would only be a matter of time before his siblings would become suspicious. It was to be expected that they would notice changes happening overnight with a brother they interacted with every day. He still had not counted on it happening so soon.

He gave Robb some more halfhearted excuses before claiming he was running an errand for Vayon Poole and quickly made his escape. All the while, his mind galloped at breakneck speed.

It was impossible. Merely a coincidence. Lady Stark had been dead for years before he, Bran and Sansa had enacted their plan. Besides, as he had told Robb, he had always done his best to stay away from his father's wife. He had no idea if she had been acting strange at this same point in his past life. Glares at Theon proved nothing, the boy elicited those with ease. It didn’t have to mean she knew what the ironborn would have one day done. The woman was likely just missing her husband as Robb had said. There were plenty of other more reasonable explanations. She might even be catching something, forever southerner that she was. 

As Jon made his way through the courtyard of Winterfell, he tried to convince himself there was nothing to worry about. 

But he had a very bad feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated this story. Sorry about that. Not sure on how often ill be able to update but hopefully it won't be as long.


	5. Robb I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support everyone! It had been so long since I last updated that I was afraid no one would be interested anymore but all the kudos and encouraging comments made me really happy. 
> 
> This chapter was originally a Catelyn POV but I was struggling to make it come together. Robb seemed to work. Let me know what you all think. I love reading your comments.

Robb Stark absently picked at his dinner as he wracked his brain. He knew something was happening in Winterfell and he intended to find out what it was. His mother acting strangely was one thing, Jon doing so was something else entirely, since he knew Jon. He knew him as well as he knew himself, or at least he had. He wasn't sure if he knew this Jon. Where once there had been a brooding boy, almost shy in his reticence, now stood someone else entirely. Someone with an easy confidence and an almost swagger. Someone who felt no shame in his place in the world. He would laugh and smile a lot more often and he would sometimes, without even realizing it seemed, speak with a voice as full of command as his lord father would use. 

Truly a part of Robb was overjoyed at these changes. They were certainly for the better. The unfair circumstances of his brother's birth was a shadow that had loomed over the family for his entire life and it had loomed largest by far over Jon. He had seen it happening slowly over years. Where as small boys they had taken each step as equals, whether in play or mischief, now Jon would walk one step back. Always deferring, always mindful of what the world expected of someone of his birth. It had pained Robb to see it happening and with guilt, he wondered if it was his fault. He still recalled in shame that day when they were small boys playing make pretend. Jon had proclaimed he was the Lord of Winterfell and Robb, in the cruel callousness of children, had retorted that a bastard could never be Lord. He hadn't meant to hurt his brother. He had petulantly lashed out without realizing the weight of his words. His realization had come years later and his apology far too late.

  
  


Robb wished he could take joy in Jon's newfound confidence without reservation. Still, the fact that it happened practically overnight and without cause or reason that he could see, left him uneasy. His mother being potentially involved was even stranger. Nothing that involved the two of them together could ever be a good thing. The worst part of it all was that he still was not sure if any of it was a cause for concern and he still worried anyways. 

He could tell Theon felt the same way. The Ironborn boy was sitting next to Robb at the high table but he was hardly touching his supper either. Now that Robb was keeping a closer eye, he certainly noticed his mother's glare upon Theon the instant they entered the Great Hall. He understood why Theon had paled and quietly took his seat. Robb didn't think mother had even looked at Jon like that.

"Are you sure there's nothing you could have done to cause this?" Robb asked quietly, his thoughts having revealed no answers.

Theon shook his head and scowled. 

"Nothing."

"Well, I'm sure there must have been something!" Robb said in frustration, "She wouldn't suddenly become displeased with you over nothing." 

"I really wish I knew." Theon said and Robb could detect a note of sadness in his voice. 

It surprised him enough that he turned to look at Theon's face fully. It had quite a few years since he had heard his friend sound like that. Not since he first arrived in Winterfell. In those days Theon had gone from sad one minute to angry the next. It was only over time that Theon became who he was now, a creature of japes and boasts.

_ And lechery.  _ Now that Robb thought about it.

"Perhaps… you should limit your visits to Wintertown." Robb said as delicately as he could, not meeting his eyes.

"Do you really think that could be it?" Theon asked hesitantly, clearly dreading curtailing his favorite pastime. "How could she know about it?"

Robb snorted. He imagined everyone knew about Theon's exploits.

"I can think of nothing else that could have angered her. You know mother takes her faith quite seriously."

Not that Robb didn't. He had been raised to follow the gods, both the new and the old and while he considered himself a northerner first and foremost, he still honored his southron heritage. Still, never quite to the same extent as his mother. He sometimes wondered how much her southron teachings played a role in her attitude toward Jon. 

"My advice is to be as pious as Septon Chayle." Robb continued on. "At least until father returns home. I'm sure by then she will forget all about it."

"If there's no helping it then." Theon said with a sigh. 

He appeared dejected and Robb wondered how Theon perceived his mother and why her displeasure affected him so.

"You know, you really should join Jon and I in our new training. He did invite you." Robb said, wanting to change the subject. "It's quite enjoyable and I can already feel myself improving. Jon has become a surprisingly good instructor, somehow."

"I am more than good enough already." Theon said acidly. "There's nothing that bastard can teach me."

"I told you not to call him that." Robb said, becoming annoyed. "And while my brother and I have always acknowledged you as our better with the bow, Jon has always been the best with the blade. You can't deny that."

Theon seemed torn between being pleased at the praise and having to acknowledge Jon's skills.

"I suppose." He once again said, this time in defeat. "To be honest, he seems even better lately."

"Yes, odd that." Robb said with a pensive frown. "He claims he was practicing in secret but I don't see how he could have improved so much and so quickly." 

He took a sip of his watered down ale as he once again pondered the mystery that was the new Jon Snow.

"Just a few days ago I could almost match him and now I am nowhere close."

"Do you think he's been holding back? To trick you into thinking he was worse than he was? Or to spare your pride perhaps?" Theon asked. He seemed to have finally started feeling peckish for he stabbed a piece of his honeyed chicken with a knife and brought it to his mouth.

Robb pursed his lips and shook his head at the very thought. Jon would never show him that level of disregard.

"Well, what else makes sense then?" Theon asked and Robb stayed quiet, honestly, he didn't know.

After a while of eating in silence Robb began to get irritated. 

"So, will you join us or not?" He said. 

One of the most aggravating aspects of his life was having to carefully divide his time between Jon and Theon. The two had never seen eye to eye and while Robb knew it was mostly Theon's fault, Jon's rigidity and sense of honor could make his scowls of disapproval as bad as his mother's sometimes. Not that he would ever tell any of them that.

"Why do you care?" Theon asked petulantly as he chewed his chicken.

"I care." Robb began, trying for patience as he sipped his watered down ale. "Because Jon is my brother and you are one as well in all but name. I would like for you both to finally get along." 

Silence descended between the two of them and from the corner of his eyes he could see Theon looking down, studying his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Do you really mean that Stark?" Theon asked in a serious tone that was very unlike him. His gaze was boring a hole in his plate. 

"Mean what?" 

"That we are brothers."

Confused, Robb set his ale down and turned to once again look at him.

"Of course I do, did you think I didn't? You may be a Greyjoy but you were raised a Stark."

Theon smiled then but it was a sad smile and Robb knew instantly what was on his mind.

"And Starks know their duty." Theon said with a sigh, confirming Robb's thoughts. "Aye, I'll come to your training with your bastard brother."

He took a large gulp of his considerably less watered down ale and refused to meet Robb's eyes.

"Thank you." Robb replied, too uncomfortable to even correct him about that word. He knew what Theon was referring to and it was honestly something he had always done his best to avoid thinking about except to prey it would never happen.

The two continued to eat in silence. Their conversation stilled by thoughts of duty and bonds of brotherhood. 

It was then Jon came in sauntering into the Great Hall, making his way towards them.

His appearance drove away all thoughts of his awkward conversation with Theon and he stared at his brother with wide eyes.

It was an unspoken rule in Winterfell that if Lord Stark was away, Jon would do his best to stay away as well during the family's meals. Robb did not think this was something his mother had ever actually ordered out loud. She only made it clear, without any words needing to be said, that his presence offended her and that she need not suffer him without his father there.

In Robb's opinion, this was not a good enough reason for his brother not to have dinner with his family. He had often tried to convince Jon to ignore her. Robb knew his mother was too proud to actually send him away but Jon had his own stubborn pride as well. As long Lady Catelyn Stark presided over dinner, Jon Snow would stay away.

Until today, it seemed.

His mother, it appeared, had not noticed Jon's arrival yet. She was gazing at Arya and Sansa as they engaged in their typical bickering with a look that could only be described as wistful and misty eyed. A small smile was playing in her lips.

Robb was still trying to interpret what he saw in his mother's face when the smile vanished completely as Jon took a seat next to Arya. It was replaced by a brief look of shock that lasted only a few seconds before a fierce scowl descended in full force. He could see her drawing herself up, ready to lash out and then with visible effort, swallow whatever words she meant to say. 

Robb knew that glare would have sent old Jon scampering away. It did seem to faze the new Jon, however, who was amicably greeting his sisters while grabbing a plate and serving himself.

He looked back to his mother who had closed her eyes and was taking a deep breath. When she opened them, she threw one last glare Jon's way before looking away. Determined, it seemed, to ignore him completely the rest of the night.

Jon did not appear to want to make it easy for her. With a laugh, he ruffled Arya's hair and congratulated her on her victory over Bran earlier in the day.

Arya, for her part, vibrated in her chair in excitement at having Jon there and waved her arms as she launched into a detailed description of the fight, seeming to forget that Jon had been there to see it.

Robb looked at his other siblings to see their reactions. Bran sullenly listened to Arya recount his defeat while interjecting to correct her a few times when he deemed her to be embellishing too much. Sansa seemed torn between being annoyed at Arya's exuberance and looking worriedly at their mother. Theon seemed to have regained his typical good humor. He was looking back and forth between Jon and Robb's mother, clearly expecting a spectacle to happen any moment.

Robb himself was at a loss. Had Jon finally decided to heed his advice? Why now all of a sudden? That question seemed the most important. What had happened to Jon to change him so much all of a sudden.

For the rest of the dinner, he contented himself with watching his family interact. Most of the conversation was carried by Jon and Arya who laughed and japed and teased each other mercilessly. It seemed strange to Robb at first. That was until he realized that this was how Jon and Arya typically interacted when they were only amongst their siblings. Even when his father was present and Jon would eat with them, he would be much more reserved. Most likely to avoid his mother's attention. This new Jon seemed to be trying to catch it.

Robb looked at her and while she was still not looking at Jon, the hardness of her eyes made Robb shiver. He could tell what was going through her mind. This complete disregard for how things had always been could only be interpreted as defiance. Jon appeared to be taunting her, challenging her with his mere presence. 

He turned to look at Jon again and he appeared to be trying to draw Sansa into the conversation. Her replies were polite and short, distant and Robb did not think he imagined the brief look of sadness that appeared on his brother's face. 

  
  


Robb grimaced in distaste. In his opinion, Sansa's regard for Jon was the biggest casualty of their mother's grudge. Robb did not believe his mother had put her up to it. He would have been beyond cross if she had. It was just that while he and Jon tried to model themselves after father, Sansa did the same with their mother. Disliking Jon was just another thing she had imitated. He had tried speaking to her about it but Sansa didn't seem to understand that polite distance was not how you treated a brother, natural born or not. 

"Lady Stark." Jon's loud voice pulled him out his thoughts and Robb stared at his brother in horror. 

_ What are you doing Jon? _

He could feel Theon next to him eagerly leaning forward and he could see all his siblings staring wide eyed at Jon who, for his part, was staring at the Lady of Winterfell with a pleasant smile on his face.

She, on the other hand, looked thunderous. Her eyes, looking colder than the Lands of Always Winter, stared at Jon in what could only be described as seething hatred. It pained Robb to bear witness to it. 

Her silence did not seem to deter Jon at all, for with that same pleasant and respectful tone he addressed her once more.

"Begging your pardons, my lady. I just wondered if there had been word from Lord Stark."

His mother still was still not saying anything and the tension in the room was razor sharp. Robb still had no idea what Jon was trying to pull but he knew it was time for him to intercede.

"Ah yes mother, I have been wondering the same. Has he said when he will be back?" He called out despite having already heard from Maester Luwin, he was hoping it would be enough to diffuse the situation.

His mother turned to him and searched his face. She appeared to be using the sight of him to compose herself. 

"We received a raven from him from when he was at Last Hearth. It shouldn't take more than a fortnight for him to be home." She replied at last. Her words clearly addressed to him.

"Oh, that's wonderful. We all miss father so." Sansa said, clasping her hands. She appeared to have had the same idea as Robb. 

Looking at her children, his mother's face softened.

"Yes, it would be very good to see Ned again." 

And Robb once again saw that same wistful look she had earlier. He looked at Jon, hoping to find the answer to this cursed mystery. But Jon was still looking at her, his head was tilted to the side, his gaze sharp and calculating. Robb was still none the wiser.

Still, it seemed Jon had tired of provoking her for the time being, he turned back to conversing with Arya and his mother soon retired for the night not long after.

  
  
  


Eventually, when dinner was over and everyone else had made off in different directions, Robb laid in his bed, thinking over the strange events at dinner. 

Now more than ever he knew something was happening in Winterfell and he had to find out what it was. His mother appeared at times far angrier and harsher than he had ever known her to be while at others she treated her children as tenderly as if she feared not seeing them ever again. Jon, on the other hand, was a complete and utter enigma. This new Jon was a stranger to him and pained him that he did not recognize the sibling he was closest to.

As he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, he determined that he would get to the bottom of whatever this was. If it involved his family, it was his duty to ensure all was well.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The next morning when he woke and made his way to break his fast, he really shouldn't have been surprised to see Jon already there. The events of the night prior, seeming to not be a one time occurrence.

It was still early and he was the only one there, the rest of the family still sleeping. As Robb approached the high table, Jon raised bleary eyes to him and mumbled some greetings. Robb took a seat next him.

"Everything alright Jon?"

"Aye, just some bad dreams." 

Jon was slouching in his chair and his eyes struggled to focus on his oats and eggs. 

"And what were you dreaming about?" Robb asked, as casually as he could as he served himself some fruits.

Jon didn't answer straight away, his thoughts seemingly leagues away.

"Things both terrible and lovely. It's strange what you find yourself missing." He finally said. His tone one Robb couldn't place. 

"And what are you missing Jon?" Robb asked gently. He had no idea what was going on but he knew his brother needed him.

Jon blinked a few times and then turned to look at him. His eyes still seemed dazed but they shone with affection and wonderment as Jon examined him.

"You, for one, I missed you terribly." Jon said with a smile and a snort.

Robb stared back, torn between being warmed by brother's regard and unsettled by how incredibly lost he was. Still, this new Jon might be a stranger but he was still his brother.

He was second away from pointing out that he had gone nowhere and wasn't planning to anytime soon when his mother walked into the Great Hall.

Robb was instantly on edge, dreading that the explosion that hadn't happened last night would happen this morning. 

As his mother approached however, Robb noticed that she appeared just as tired as Jon did. Her gaze was just as distant and her steps were dragging. Even her hair seemed slightly disheveled.

She appeared so unlike his typical impeccable and ladylike mother that Robb's mind went blank in shock for a few seconds.

As she neared, she finally seemed to notice Jon and her steps halted and Robb braced himself.

His mother stayed quiet however, her face a blank mask as she stared at Jon. When Robb turned his head, Jon was gazing back in the exact same way. 

Their silent battle continued for almost a full minute before his mother rolled her eyes and grabbed the sleeve of a passing serving maid.

"I'll be breaking my fast in the Lord's solar, have the kitchen send something up." 

And with that she turned around and walked back out where she came from.

Robb let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Not that I'm not glad to share my meals with you Jon but are you intentionally trying to antagonize her?" 

"With my mere presence?" Jon asked ruefully. "Aye, that will antagonize her like nothing else."

He still seemed to be looking at where his mother left from.

"But no. Not intentionally no." Jon said as he rose from his seat. "But your mother is a mystery I intend to puzzle out."

Robb stared at Jon's retreating back with his own hardening determination.

_ So are you Jon, and I will puzzle you out as well. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I'm already working on the next chapter. Hopefully it won't be too long until its finished.


	6. Jon III & Catelyn III

Jon could feel Robb's eyes burning a hole into his back as he exited the Great Hall. He knew his brother must be extremely confused. Jon didn't blame him. By now his resolution to not arouse suspicion was already a lost cause. Even just now, he had probably said far too much. 

It couldn't be helped, it seemed. The boy he had been felt like a distant, hazy memory. It was proving impossible to become him once more. Like a pair of discarded trousers that no longer seemed to fit. 

He would have to tell Robb eventually. 

Jon walked down the courtyard, enjoying the warmth of the summer morning. Near a week he had been back but it still didn't fail to elicit awe in him. Once, when the sky lay shrouded and the cold of winter seemed to permeate his very bones, he had forgotten what it felt like to be warm. Just then, a soft morning breeze brushed through his hair and he idly wondered why the Southron even needed their seven heavens. 

Surely no land could compare to the North in summer.

The breeze and the warmth did much to recuperate him despite his lack of sleep and

His steps took him in the direction of the godswood, as they had done every morning since he had been back. All the while his mind took him back to the dream that had robbed him of his rest.

It was a new one and Jon felt grim amusement at the fact that his mind could still conjure up new scenarios to torture him. Even ones so sweet. He figured his mind must be struggling far more now than before to do so. Back when he was surrounded by death and the bone permeating cold, his mind must have had all the fuel it needed to keep him awake. 

Now he could almost say he was happy. The ghosts that had haunted him for years were back among the living. He had a luxury in time he never had before. Time to plan, to think, time even just to breathe. 

Jon knew he should be grateful, and he was to a certain extent. After so many years of the worst possible thing always happening, the gods had given him something wonderful at last.

But It was not enough. 

He really must be the selfish bastard he had always been accused of, for Jon wanted it all. 

He wanted his siblings, alive and healthy and carefree. He wanted to see his father at last, after so many years. He wanted the summer breeze blowing through his hair and the sun warming his skin for the rest of his days.

He wanted his wife.

The dream had decided to torment him with memories. Each memory more precious than the last, each making his loss be felt more keenly. All memories of her. Their reunion out at the gates of Winterfell, each with an army at their back, neither knowing what to make of the other. The proud smile she had given him when he had been declared King in the North that had made him stand taller than any crown ever could. 

As he neared the center of the godswood he remembered. The look in her eyes as they exchange vows beneath this very weirwood tree. Her gentle patience as they sat in their father's solar each day after setting the North to rights. 

His lips quivered into a smile.

She would be embroidering something that was sure to be beautiful while he sat by the fireplace, trying to warm his bones. She would then tutor him in etiquette and intrigue and all manners of courtly games she felt a King ought to know. 

Not a whole lot of it came in useful, most of the lords who played these games were long gone and the Walkers played their own game, but she had always been so hopeful. She would describe a day that would come when the wars would be over and the dawn would grace the land once more and such things would be needed.

It would always sound so sweet in Jon's ear, the pictures she would paint with her voice. Of harvests and feasts and warmth and plenty. Of the laughter of children running underfoot. Her beautiful dreams of spring. Dreams that had captivated him despite how hard it was to hold on to hope.

Jon took a seat at the base of the weirwood tree and leaned his back against its white barked trunk. He closed his eyes.

"I'm feeling wistful Sansa." Jon said to the stillness of the godswood. "And melancholic."

"I find myself unsure of the next step. Of what it could mean for my task." He continued.

"She is your mother, you would know what to do best."

Neither the ironoaks or the sentinels answered him and even the ancient weirwood tree of his gods stood silent. 

But it was not their answer he sought for they were not who he prayed to.

  
  


"I know neither how or why but your mother might remember." 

The wind still felt soothing upon his checks but the sound of it whistling amongst the leaves and branches offered no message he could decipher. 

"I am thinking of confronting her about it. I was ready to do so last night. It was on the tip of my tongue as I called out to her across the great hall."

He had thought himself beyond Lady Stark's glares. Childhood demons were always the hardest to face.

"How is she still able to affect me like this Sansa?" 

He knew the reason, deep down, but his pride and the memories of a tear soaked boy alone in this very godswood prevented him from ever admitting them. Not even in his own thoughts.

"What would you counsel me, Sansa? You never steered me wrong."

When no answer came, Jon tried to stop his worrying. His eyes still closed, he tried to enjoy the breeze and the sun. Simple pleasures long denied him.

It proved impossible and Jon opened his eyes. Memories of his dream of memories kept intruding into his thoughts. The day he donned the Crown of Winter sharper than all the rest. Sansa had been proud of him that day. The Crown should have been hers, but still, she had said that never had she seen a King more worthy. Jon hadn't felt like a King, not until her smile. 

His lips curved into his own smile and he stood up. Shaking the leaves and twigs from his clothes. He took one step before stopping, the sounds of the godswood remained the same but Jon's smile grew wider.

"Thank you, Sansa."

He then took his second step and then his third and with each new one he took, his sense of purpose grew. There would be no going back from this. His task was likely to become far more complicated than any of them had anticipated. He cared not.

He was Jon of House Stark. He was Jaehaerys of House Targaryen. He had killed White Walkers and ridden Dragons. He had worn two crowns and Sansa had smiled at him. He was not afraid of Catelyn Tully.

* * *

Catelyn rubbed at her temples as she made her way to her husband's solar. Last night's dream was still playing across her mind whenever she closed her eyes and the lack of sleep had given her an aching head. It had been Bran this time, falling again and again from that cursed tower. His little body broken, his eyes forever closed. 

One of Catelyn's greatest regrets was not being there when her sweet boy had finally awakened. Her heart broke whenever she imagined how frightened he must have been, how lonely. How betrayed he must have felt when that filthy ironborn had slaughtered him and his brother in their own home.

Catelyn realized her fingernails were digging painfully into her palms in how hard she was clenching her hands. Her temples were throbbing and she made an effort to take a breath and calm down. 

_The Greyjoy boy will sooner die than leave Winterfell_ _this time around._

When she finally entered the room, Catelyn collapsed into the chair and tiredly rubbed her eyes. Her sprawled posture not at all like her typical self. She had not planned on starting the day's work so early but she could not bear to be in the bastard's presence one moment longer, not after last night's farce of a dinner.

_How dare he?_

Catelyn could still hardly believe it. She already tolerated his presence far more than any other woman of her station ever would. She remembered hearing rumors about all of Robert Baratheon's bastards being slaughtered, babes and all. Did the boy not realize how well he had it? All she ever wanted was for him to stay out of her sight. She did not wish to be reminded that her husband had broken his wedding vows. That he had laid and loved another while she was worrying over him and bringing his son and heir into the world. 

The bastard did not seem to understand. This time around it was even worse. Surely he had never been so bold last time, never flagrantly parading his presence in front of her like he had last night. Defying her, staring straight in her eyes as if daring her to send him away. 

It had to stop. This was her home. She was the Lady of this castle, this was where she had raised her children. She would not be mocked and disrespected in her own home by the product of her husband's lapse in judgment.

Catelyn knew she had to get rid of him. She couldn't kill him, she wasn't that far gone to kill a child yet, and she knew she could never inflict that particular pain on Ned, not when she more than most knew what it felt like to outlive her children. She would have to send him away. Her husband would likely think him too young for the Watch at this point but he might consider the Citadel. There he would be as far away as possible and would still have to forsake all claim to her children's birthright.

The thought of it cheered Catelyn considerably.

With new vigour she reached for parchment and quill, intending to write the letter to Oldtown immediately even if she knew she had to speak to Ned first before sending it. 

The quill had barely touched parchment before a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. 

With a sigh, she called to enter. She wondered what Maester Luwin required so early in the day. He would normally be tending the ravens until the late morning. 

When the door opened and the bastard stepped through, all Catelyn could feel was disbelief.

She stared at him with wide eyes as he strolled into the room. It was only when he reached for a chair to sit down that Catelyn found her voice as well as the pyre of rage that had been stoked since the night prior.

Jumping to her feet, she slammed both palms against the desk. The noise startling in the still morning.

" **Get out!** " She roared.

His calm expression only seemed to infuriate her further. 

" **I said, get out!** " 

She knew spittle was flying out of her mouth and that she must appear half crazed. She did not care. She was here to escape him. She had given up having breakfast with her son to avoid him and he still dared follow her? Was it his plan to drive her madder than Arys? She would be sending that letter immediately and to the seven hells whatever Ned had to say. This had to stop. He should have never been here in the first place.

"I think." The bastard said in an infuriatingly calm voice. "That we must speak."

"I have nothing to say to you." Catelyn spat. She decided he could await the Citadel's response in White Harbor. She would have to write a second letter, one to Lord Maderly, but she was sure he wouldn't mind. There, he could take the first ship out of her life for the rest of her days.

She saw the bastard take a breath.

"What do you remember of what occurred at the Twins?"

And she lost hers.

_Betrayal._ Catelyn stumbled back. Her mind shrieked. _Betrayal, and the death of decency and all things sacred._

The memories threatened to overwhelm her until she finally realized who had asked, and what he had asked.

"What do you mean?" She demanded with narrowed eyes. A sense of foreboding building in the pit of her stomach.

"Do you recall what happened there? With the Freys and the Boltons?"

Surely not. Catelyn thought. Shock rising.

The bastard was staring at her closely.

"At the wedding?"

With his words the strings were cut and she collapsed on the chair, her mind filled with empty noise.

The bastard looked at her for a few seconds before muttering an expletive off to the side.

"I'll take that as a yes." He said with a sigh as he took his own chair.

The two stared at each other in silence. She was not sure what the bastard was thinking as he looked at her but she knew she was thinking nothing at all.

"How are you here!?" The boy finally demanded.

His tone was disrespectful enough that it drew her ire and she came back to herself a little more.

"How are _you_ here!?" She demanded right back. Her ability to speak still inhibited.

"There was a ritual." The bastard said slowly. "I was sent back. But this was years after your death. So how are you here?" He once again insisted.

Ritual? Years? 

She had idea what he was talking about. She held out a hand to silence him. 

When no more words came from him, Catelyn put both hands over her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. She took several more but it was not enough. She let go of her face suddenly and reached for the pitcher of wine at her desk and generously filled one of the goblets. With hands that were surprisingly steady despite her state of mind, she grabbed the goblet and nearly drained half of it in one go. 

She slammed the goblet down on the table and a few drops of wine sprinkle into her sleeve. She paid it no mind.

Catelyn turned back to the bastard who was staring at her curiously.

"Speak." 

The bastard stayed silent for a few moments longer, still studying her with his head tilted to the side.

"As I said earlier. There was a ritual. It allows for the sending of memories through time."

It all sounded ridiculous to Catelyn. A ritual? She was sure this was a gift from the gods. She told the bastard as much.

"The old gods perhaps." The insufferable boy said with a sneer. "It was done at the weirwood grove in the Isle of Faces. Your southron statues have no business there."

"Don't speak to me of the Riverlands boy." She snapped. Future memories or not, his impertinence still rankled.

The bastard had the grace to look sheepish for a quick second.

"In any case." The boy continued. "I was sent back with a task, to guard the realms of men. A threat is brewing beyond the Wall that will require that all stand together to face it."

"Wildlings?" She asked incredulously. Each time they came, they were smashed and sent scurrying.

"No." The bastard said. "The Free Folk flee from this threat."

He leaned forward.

"I speak of nothing less than the return of the Others."

She stared at him. What was he playing at? Trying to convince her of myths and legends?

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

"You can accept traveling through time but White Walkers are a step too far?"

It was a good point, Catelyn conceded, but she was hardly going to play into his games.

"I am living this. I have to believe it." She told him coldly. "I have neither seen nor heard rumors of these myths of yours."

"The Watch sent ravens to all five kings requesting aid. I imagined Robb received one."

Catelyn could not recall if such a letter had ever arrived at Riverrun and Robb had often been on the March.

"If he did, I never heard it." 

The bastard looked at her in exasperation and Catelyn felt petty satisfaction at vexing him as he did her.

After a while, the boy rolled his eyes.

"Very well." He said as he leaned back in his chair. "A different approach is needed here, clearly."

"I wish to stop this threat and to protect my family. Those are my tasks here. I don't care if you believe me or not. I will allow you to help me with the second if you help me with the first." 

Catelyn could not help it, she gaped at the sheer audacity of the boy. To try to strongarm into helping him and to use her family to do so. The nerve of him.

"Allow me!?" She said through clenched teeth. "Who are you to allow me anything!?"

The bastard actually had the gall to grin at her.

"Who am I? I suppose I could tell you but this is something you should probably hear from your husband."

His grin got wider and there was an edge of vicious satisfaction to it.

"I must say though, prepare yourself, the identity of my mother will surprise you."

At this point Catelyn was seeing through a red haze. This bastard thought he could stroll in here and mock her? To try to hold her family hostage? At that moment, Catelyn wanted nothing more than to hurt him.

"I don't care what disease ridden camp follower caught Ned's eye after Robert Baratheon stuffed him full of ale. I will protect my family against all threats. I don't need your help. Stand in my way and not even my husband will save you." Catelyn said with as much vitriol as she could muster. 

The amusement in the bastards eyes changed instantly. It was replaced with a look colder the winter house Stark warned about. He stood up from his chair.

"Five days ago, you saw your son die before your eyes." He said and Catelyn flinched.

"Shortly afterwards, you followed him."

He leaned his face forward, all the while staring her right in the eyes. Catelyn met his glare.

"For this, I will look past what you just said. Never do so again."

He held his gaze on Catelyn and although she did not back away, she remained silent.

He then turned around and walked away. When he got to the door he turned his head to look back at her.

"I really do hope you reconsider, Lady Stark. It would be foolish to work at odds towards the same end."

With those parting words he stepped out and slammed the door behind him. 

Catelyn grabbed the goblet of wine and threw it against the wall. 

This boy thought he could threaten her? In her own home? 

She took a seat in her chair, her vein filled with icy rage. She took up her quill and started writing the letters. The boy needed to be gone. Now more than ever. He was an element she could not predict. His interference could throw all her plans into disarray. She had lost her entire family once, she would not allow this jumped up bastard to put them at risk. Her reunion with Ned would be ruined, her children might never forgive her, but if she must be a villain to see them safe, she would.

She would write her letters and the boy would be on his way to White Harbor by tomorrow. Tied up if need be.

* * *

Jon left his father’s solar and his father’s wife with a dark scowl on his face but with each step he took, the anger drained out of him. This had not gone as he had planned. 

His goal had been to ascertain whether she could remember and if she did, to convince her of the coming threat. He had succeeded in the former, he knew shocking her would cause her to reveal herself and so he had gone straight for the throat. He had failed miserably in the latter. He wanted to blame her, the obstinate woman, but he knew he had needesly provoked her. It had been far too easy and far too satisfying. 

Jon huffed, annoyed, as he made his way to his room. 

He had given himself away, obtained nothing of value, and it was all his fault. He did not want to ally himself with Catelyn Stark of all people, he could even think of several Lannisters he would prefer. Still, the situation being as it was he had decided to make do. If she remembered then she could be useful. She had information of the south and of events he had only heard in passing. She had clout and a position of authority he lacked, she could enact the plans he couldn't. She also, he grudgingly admitted, would do her best to protect those he cared about.

If only she would listen. If only he could look past his need for petty vengeance.

Sansa would be disappointed. A king would never secure allies with this type of diplomacy.

When Jon reached his room, he threw himself on his bed. He wondered where to go from here. 

His good-mother could be very reckless when upset. Her capture of Tyrion Lannister and the release of Ser Jaime being two prominent examples. She was currently very upset at her husband's bastard. He had been tempted to reveal the truth of his parentage right then and there. It would have been so satisfying to taunt her with it, to revel in the fact that her hatred of him was without cause. Jon had known he couldn't. For one, he did not know how she would react. He did not think he had to worry about her giving him up to Robert Baratheon, that would place everyone's neck on the block, but she might just do something equally foolhardy. For another, Jon did not doubt that the parents of his siblings loved each other dearly. He had no desire to cause a rift in their marriage. He had told her truly, she had to hear this from his father. Still, with how angry she had seen right then he wondered if he should worry about some sort of retaliation. He didn't think he had to fear for his life but he knew she could make it quite difficult if she desired to do so. She was also likely to interfere with anything he set out to do. 

Jon snorted. Not like there was anything he could actually do. He was a bastard, after all. At least not until Ned Stark returned to Winterfell. 

_I need Father on my side._

Jon knew this was the only way. He had been foolish to expect anything from Catelyn Stark, like always. He would need to speak to Lord Stark as soon as he arrived, he had to secure his allegiance. She was likely to do the same. Ned Stark was the key. Most of her power, and any Jon hoped to gain, would come from him. Jon only hoped he would pick his son over his lady wife. 

Suddenly, Jon felt tired. Doubts he had ignored and pushed into the back of his mind, came to resurface.

Despite learning the truth and even marrying the man’s daughter, Jon still considered Eddard Stark to be his father. Still, deep at nights, when all of his insecurities came to haunt him, he wondered if he had ever actually thought of him as his son. Was it just a mummery he played to uphold a promise to a dying sister? Had Ned Stark seen him as his son or as his duty? Would he actually choose him over his wife? Or if it came to it, Robert Baratheon?

He had shared his fears with his sisters once and they had both done their best to reassure him. Arya had immediately called him stupid. He had tried to ignore his doubts and back then, with the dead either looming or remaining silent, it had been easy. Now it was all Jon could think about.

He wondered how Ned Stark would react once he realized Jon knew the truth. Would he be angry? Last time it seemed that he never intended to tell him. He had gone to his grave keeping the secret. Jon would never have learned of it if it hadn't been for…

_Howland Reed!_

Jon shot up in his bed. He had at least one ally. A man who had borned a deep respect for his mother. A man who had sworn himself to him completely and whose advice and service had never faltered. Someone who knew of Wargs and Greenseers and would take the threat seriously. He was not the Warden of the North or his lady wife but the Lord of any keep possessed far more power than Jon currently held.

Picking up pen and parchment, Jon immediately began writing a letter. It would have to be crafted carefully. Who knew what ideas Lady Stark might get if she somehow got a hold of it. Still, as he wrote, he began to feel much better than before.

Jon knew the worth of Howland Reed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Hopefully you enjoyed that. Let me know what you think.


End file.
